“Well, I don’t want her help,” Marcus argued.
Clara shook her head in disbelief. “Okay, Vanessa,” she said sternly. “Why don’t you and Ally go grab a bite while I look around? I saw a sub shop up the road.” Then moving her gaze to me, her mouth quirked up in a small smile, as she goaded, “I need some time to get to know my new business partner.”
Widening my eyes, I let my mouth drop open. Fuck. Marcus looked to me, his eyes rolled back as if they were stuck in the middle of an eye-roll. “No fucking way,” he droned out.
The room fell silent for only a split second until Sap’s hoarse and raspy laugh bellowed from down the hallway, killing the quiet. Apparently he overheard Clara’s last statement and found something about it incredibly amusing. He walked in, still chuckling. His body shook as he attempted to control his laughter, his gaze darting between Marcus and me. Taking a few steps toward Clara, he tipped his worn-out Chevy hat and rasped, “Well, welcome to the family, sweetheart.”
“So you had no idea who inherited the other half of the business?” Ashley asks, staring at her notebook.
“My uncle wanted it kept private until Clara made her decision. I wouldn’t figure out until much later why that was.”
Ashley peeked up slightly, her head still down as she continued to scribble on her pad. “And why was that?” I hate—and have always hated—knowing exactly how my uncle was affiliated with Clara. It repulses me to know why he left her half of his business. Rubbing my palms on my pants, I answer, “I think that’s a story for Clara to tell. Not me.”
“Fair enough.” Ashley nods. “So Clara arrived, you found out she’s your partner . . . and what happened next?”
I gave her a less than thrilling tour of the office and a basic description of everything. She listened, took notes on a legal pad, and didn’t speak a word to me. At the end of the tour, we walked in to the back office and I plopped down in the chair, putting my feet up on the desk.
“I’m curious,” I began. “Why did my uncle leave you half of his business?”
“I’ve asked myself that a few times,” she snorted.
“Were you his . . .” I didn’t finish my thought. Lover? No. Even then I knew that couldn’t be. Uncle Dennis was a stud in his prime, and it was weird he’d kept something of this caliber to himself, almost sub rosa, for so long, but I doubted he could’ve pulled in a woman of Clara’s youth and looks at his age and no one be the wiser. But what else could it have been?
Clara narrowed her eyes at me. “His what?”
I shrugged, somewhat uncomfortable with what I was asking, but not at all afraid to ask. “His lover?” I finished.
Her mouth pinched into this weird thing where she seemed to be fighting a huge, crazy smile of disdain. The look she gave me said: No. I was not his lover. You’re an asshole.
“I’m just trying to understand here. Who are you? How did he know you?”
Walking over to the back wall where we kept a bulletin board of photos from jumps, she crossed her arms and stared. Most of the photos in the front of the office where customers entered were of me. This board, however, held mostly photos of my uncle.
“He looks like he led a very full and exciting life.” The way she said it raised my hackles. She said it as if it made her mad he’d lived a happy life. Putting my feet down, I stood and rounded the desk while I watched her. For some reason, I felt the need to defend Dennis even though I had no idea what I was defending him against. In the short time, and very few interactions I’d had with Clara, I’d seen very few dimensions to her. She was a ballbuster, definitely. But oddly, I found it attractive. She was uptight; her sense of humor nonexistent, it seemed. But in that moment, while she stared at the photos of my uncle, I saw pure and unadulterated vulnerability. Something about looking at those photos broke her heart. And for the briefest of moments, her fa?ade of being unbreakable slipped away, revealing what lay beneath.
“He was a great man. He led a great life,” I pointed out.
Turning back to me, she dropped her arms. “I bet,” she murmured, but the words didn’t sound authentic.
Then it hit me. I stood to my full height. “Shit,” I mumbled. How could I not have thought of it before? “You’re his daughter?”
This time, she put no effort into hiding her displeasure. Her expression read: disgust. “No. I am most definitely not his daughter.”
I didn’t respond. I had no idea what to say. Clearly, this woman, my new business partner, not only hated my uncle, but loathed him. So why would he leave her half of his business?
Clara, apparently tired of discussing her affiliation with Uncle Dennis, moved on. “I hope we can work together to make this business flourish.”